


The Boy Across the Street

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way likes watching the boy across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Across the Street

**Author's Note:**

> request: binoculars
> 
> translation into русский available: [The Boy Across the Street](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1654241) by [libertiny](http://ficbook.net/authors/303668)

Gerard Way likes watching the boy across the street. He doesn't find it strange at all.

When he comes home from his boring job as a barista at the local café, he pulls up his black, comfortable lounge chair, plops down in it, and grabs the pair of binoculars he had lain on the windowsill.

He brings them by his face and looks through the glass, a small smile on his face.

The boy across the street is changing into his pajamas.

Gerard licks his lips and runs a hand through his short, choppy red hair.

"Gerard? Are you home?"

He quickly throws the binoculars up in the air, ends up catching them when gravity acts, and then decides to sit on them. He tries to act nonchalant as his wife enters the room. It's hard to do.

She's wearing a sweatshirt—his sweatshirt in fact—and a pair of skinny jeans—probably his, too. Her blonde hair's in a messy bun, and she's eyeing him with pursed lips. "What're you doing?" She's suspicious.

_Admiring the boy across the street. He has a gorgeous body. Would you care to see?_

Gerard shrugs. "Bird watching." He turns back to look out the window. "I can't find any."

"Right. Maybe you should pull the blinds up, Gee." She walks over, grabs the wire hanging from the top of the curtain rod, and pulls, the cord wrapped around two of her fingers. The blinds screech as they climb up the window. Gerard watches Lindsey open the window, welcoming the scent of late summer.

"Maybe you can see birds now." She kisses the top of his head.

"Thanks, Lindsey," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side to admire the way the boy across the street is on his bed, playing a guitar. He's so young, so talented.

*

Gerard wakes up with the urge to fuck something.

And that something is not his wife.

He decides to lay out a blanket on the front yard and gaze at the house across the street.

He imagines rolling around in bed with the boy.

Gerard ends up fucking himself.

*

The boy across the street is crying, and Gerard is watching through his binoculars. "Don't cry," he murmurs, and he attempts to reach out and touch the boy's head, weave his fingers through that long dark hair. "I'll help you." Gerard's chin quivers. He's pathetic.

*

Gerard can remember exactly when he started watching the boy.

It was a Friday in early summer, maybe in June.

The boy and his mother had moved in. The woman—Linda Iero—wanted to cut all ties with their past—past friends, past town, past life, past _everything_. She was divorced, and Gerard knew that hurt the young boy, even if he put up a strong front.

Gerard and Lindsey had volunteered to help them— _well_ , it was more Lindsey's idea, than Gerard's. They walked across the street, introduced themselves, and when Gerard set his eyes on the boy, his smile just grew, and he waved. "What's your name?" he asked, as he bent down to be level with him. It's always better to be eye level with children, helps with the connection, the bond.

The boy stuck his finger in his mouth, then his thumb. "Frank, but you can call me Frankie." Drool spilled from the side of his mouth.

Gerard had hugged him and never wanted to let go.

He had spied on him ever since. That had been six years ago.

The boy's body hadn't changed at all.

*

Gerard is staring out the window again. The boy has walked into his room and had locked the door behind him.

Gerard can tell something's going to happen, and his hand presses against his groin with anticipation.

But instead, the boy turns around and goes to dive into his dresser, pulling out a pink dress.

Gerard leans back in the chair. "Fuck, he's playing dress-up." He acts like it's scandalous, something foreign and unheard of for a kid to play make-believe.

But this doesn't stop him from sliding out the house while Lindsey's taking a shower and walking to the residence across the street.

*

He lightly knocks on the bedroom door whenever he manages to enter the home and climb up the stairs without any difficulty. The boy's mother wasn't home—such a fortunate surprise. She had left a note on the counter.

_Went to the store. Be back soon, Frankie._

Gerard had smiled a bit at the note before moving upstairs and knocking politely, and this is where he stands now, right by the little boy's room. He knocks on the door again, and then he sees the lock slowly turn. "You can come in, Mum."

Gerard opens the door, steps inside, and begins to admire the way the boy's standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around himself, naked, his back to Gerard.

"I tried on one of your dresses. I'm sorry. I'll put it up."

Gerard presses a hand to his throbbing front. Disgusting. He starts over to the boy, biting his lip. Shaking his head, he raises trembling fingers to his neck, slipping off the tie he had worn to work. In one careful movement, the boy's eyes are covered with the piece of thin fabric. Gerard rubs the boy's sides, his hips, up to his back.

The boy doesn't stiffen. "What're you doing, Mum? I don't need my back scratched."

Gerard isn't scratching his back. He's trying hard not to let out a cry. _I'm going to take good care of you._ He picks the boy from the carpet and carries him to the small bed, wondering how both of them are going to fit. Carefully, Gerard sets the boy onto his stomach, on the _Scooby-Doo_ bed covers, before moving to unbuckle his belt, sliding his jeans and boxers down to his knees. He's shuddering.

"Mum, what's that?" Little hands wave around. "Why can't I see?" They touch the tie over covered eyes, then a giggle joins the equation. "Are we playing a game?"

Gerard brings his head down, leans his cheek against the boy's. He nods, and the boy lightly grazes his fingers across his cheekbone. "Your skin's soft. Did you go to a spa after grocery shopping?"

Gerard can't help but smile as he holds onto the boy's hips, guiding his bottom to sit in his lap. The boy tenses up, only a bit, but Gerard doesn't stop. He lets a hand roam along the boy's body, feeling at the youth leaked in, feeling at his chest, feeling at his sides, feeling at what Lindsey should feel like, but doesn't. He doesn't blame her. He can't blame her.

Gerard parts his lips, kisses the boy's spine.

He presses into the twelve year old.

Revolting.

*

Gerard's standing by the front door with his wife, her arms around his waist, her head on his chest. They look like the model couple, like an oil painting. "It's such a shame," she sighs, shaking her head.

It's been a week since Gerard had had the chance to share the intimate moment with the boy, and now, the police are over, and Linda's telling them what her son had told her that morning.

Gerard can hear her voice raising from just standing by the open front door.

"He said that he had a dream about getting violated by some man! He said 'he smelled like axe and hair dye and sweat, and I loved it, Mum'! Do something! Find the man who hurt my baby boy!"

Gerard feels wrong smirking, but he does anyway. Thankfully, he switched the cologne he used and dyed his hair with a different hair dye, that smelled slightly worse than the one he had used before, in order to get the police off his back. He doesn't want to get caught. He's surprised he hasn't gotten caught.

Lindsey's grip on his waist tightens. "That kid doesn't even look traumatized."

Gerard glances at her, and then back ahead, watching as the boy skips around the front yard. The sprinkler goes off. He pulls off his t-shirt, so it wouldn't get wet, of course, and he continues to dance around the yard, his arms above his head, drenching his body and long hair with water.

Gerard tilts his head. "Maybe he enjoyed it." He shrugs.

"That's disgusting."

Gerard doesn't know why he married her.

*

Lindsey is meeting with her sister-in-law tonight. They're having a late dinner. Gerard doesn't mind. He's bird watching.

He pulls out the binoculars from their hiding place, runs a hand through his icky, red hair, and licks his lips.

The magnifiers press against his eyes as he sits back in his black, comfortable lounge chair.

Gerard Way likes watching the boy across the street. He doesn't find it strange at all.


End file.
